


Only Natural

by imightbejehan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Background Relationships, F/M, I dont really know what im doing, M/M, Modern Era, im sorry, kinda Red Dawn inspired, more characters are introduced after the first chapter, not graphic though, some fighting with guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:04:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imightbejehan/pseuds/imightbejehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is part of a activist group in a dystopian society called Les Amis.<br/>They fight the government by blowing shit up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Earthquake

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first EVER fanfiction and I would really like to apologize if I totally missed the characters.... I would love feedback and you can talk to me on tumblr if you actually read the whole thing and we can be best friends!!
> 
> THANK YOU!
> 
> tumblr- http://imightbejehan.tumblr.com

Grantaire would say the last thing he saw was Enjolras, but it wasn’t. He would say that he was the cause of the fall of Les Amis, but he wasn’t. Grantaire would say he was proud to be an Amis, and he was.

 

“R,” a muffled voice came through the headphones, jolting Grantaire awake.

            “Yes, my flower?” Grantaire clambered off the bench. It was time to start.

            “R,” the response was immediate, and without the usual giggle the nickname brought, “they know. I can see them right now.”

            Grantaire stopped walking to shuffle into the shadows.

            “My flower, we see the Guard all the time. It’s no different.” He tried to keep his voice smooth and calm, but his stomach dropped and his hands shook in his pockets.

            “No R, it’s different. They looked right at me. They are _following_ me. We need to get out of here.”

            “Breathe. Where are you?”

            Grantaire could see the Guard standing across the street. He was watched too.

            “Corner of Park and Milton.” The voice was quieter, as if trying to whisper.

            “Okay there is an alley across the street. I need you to wait until pedestrians start crossing and walk calmly over. Match the pace. _Do not rush_.” There was scratching on the other end of the line. “When you cross blend in and slowly enter the alley.”

            Grantaire silently thanked himself for drunken nights out in the town helping him memorize the city.

            “Done.”

            “Now put the pack down by the dumpster. Stay in the shadows until another crowd passes. Go left three blocks, cross and enter the next alley you see.”

            Grantaire began walking, hitching his backpack higher up on his shoulders and matching disappearing into the crowd around him. He would prefer to stay in place and not lose connection, but the government was watching him now. He had to stay safe until he could drop the bomb off.

            While listening to the heavy breathing and city noise filtering through the speakers Grantaire found himself wishing he had never met Bahorel. If only he hadn’t stopped in during a Les Amis meeting before a drink and seen _him_. He banishes the thought quickly though.  

            What was he, Grantaire, without his sun?

            He already knew the answer to that.

            He was a washout when he met the activist group; just trying to get by as the new government took hold. His plan had been to stay out of the way and _not_ get killed. Then he walked in on one of Enjolras’ speeches and couldn’t help but join.

            He may not believe in the activist’s goal of freedom, but he could believe in Enjolras.

            “R, I’m there.” Grantaire was startled again into the present.

            “Take off the jacket.”

            “R it’s thirty degrees!”

            “Do it! The Guard knows your jacket; they will easily find you with it.”

            “They will easily notice me if I walk around without a coat!”

            “With all the beggars in the streets nowadays? I think not. Anyways, two shops down you should see a sign saying Milly’s Thrift Shop. Enter.” Grantaire had his eyes closed, finding it difficult to imagine a map with his heart pounding in his head.

            “I have no money.”

            “Listen to me! Get your flowery little ass in there. Make sure the cashier is looking at you and tug your hair. She will give you a new jacket and a hat. Tuck your braid into the hat. After that you should be clear to follow Route Black to base.”

            “And you?”

            “Don’t worry about me.” He heaved a sigh that could be heard on the other end.

            “Grantaire don’t do this-“

            “Jehan shut up. Someone has to finish the mission.”

            “Forget about the-“

            Grantaire interrupted again, “Jean get your ass back to base.”

            “Okay.” Jehan’s voice was the softest Grantaire has ever heard, and the poet always had a habit of whispering. “Just remember, we _all_ love you.”

            After a bit more rustling it was quiet enough that Grantaire knew he could speak again, “Jehan?”

            “Yes R?”

            “Make sure to tell him. Just not until after, okay?”

            “Goodbye, mon ami.”

             Grantaire’s smile was sad as he rounded the corner to the city’s famous park.

            It was a dump now. The government didn’t waste any money on cleaning up the city when they had armies to worry about, slaves to keep under control and Les Amis to combat.

            Enjolras and the rest had made it their goal to overthrow the latest dictator and start a republic. Their way? Plant bombs where mass amount of the driving force of the army, the Guard, were stationed.

            That was Grantaire and Jehan’s mission today, but it was failing. It was the third attack this week, so they should have expected high security. They just never expected to get trapped.

            Grantaire found a bench and sat, pulling out his nearly empty flask. He knew he should hurry; that precious time was being wasted while his partner was being hunted, but for the first time Grantaire felt he wasn’t ready to die. He took a swig from the flask.

            His half his life he had been drinking himself to death, and now he was pausing before saving his friends. Grantaire smiled ruefully.

            He looked down at the black letters peeking out from underneath the green sweatshirt he wore. He began to trace the name. Every time he began again Grantaire felt his courage rising.

            What would his little sister think of him now? She would laugh and tell Grantaire he was foolish for killing himself for something he didn’t believe in. Behind that grin her bright blue eyes would tell Grantaire just how proud and sad she really was.

            He rose with on final drink from the flask. It emptied into his mouth but he couldn’t find himself caring.

            Crackling came from the headphones again; the only signal Grantaire was still online before shouting made him stumble.

            “R! R, can you hear me?”

            “You can never trust a poet can you, Apollo?”

            “I can trust the poet _just fine_ ; he isn’t what I’m worried about.” Grantaire could tell Enjolras was livid. He smiled truly now.

            “My dear Apollo, are you trying to tell me you actually _care_?” He knows he shouldn’t push, but it was just one last time anyways.

            “R, stop this crazy mission and come back to base. We can plan out our next action there.”

            “You know I’m not one for planning.”

            “Grantaire don’t even think about it. Get back here. We need you. _I_ need you.” Enjolras’ voice broke slightly as he whispered the last words. Grantaire wanted so badly to go back; to ease his fearless leader’s worries, but he couldn’t. His mind was made up. He could show Enjolras one time just how much he meant to him.

            “Why, has the marble statue cracked at last? Shame I missed the scene.”

            “Be serious.”

            “I am wild.”

            Grantaire pulled the headphones out of his ears. He could faintly hear Enjolras shouting at him, begging him. He knew he couldn’t listen to too much more until he broke and followed Enjolras’ wishes.

            Quickly he smashed his phone into the concrete, shattering everything. Grantaire pried apart the broken back and slipped out the GPS and memory chip. He threw the phone in the trash and the headphones, GPS, and chip into a drain leading to the ocean. All that he had left was the backpack and a fake pair of headphones that acted as a remote.

            Quietly Grantaire walked up to the fountain and placed the pack at the base. It wasn’t ideal and there was no cover. He wanted to be seen. The Guard had their eyes on him when he started running.

            Shouts echoed behind him ordering him to stop. He pressed the + on his headphones. The ground shook from the explosion and threw Grantaire slightly off his balance. He pushed on through the ringing in his ears and the parting crowd.

            He slightly expected to make it longer than he really did. Grantaire would tell you he made it ten blocks. He made it ten steps.

            He didn’t feel the bullets pierce his skin after the first. He couldn’t even feel when his body crumbled to the ground. Grantaire only knew that he wasn’t dead yet. Unless heaven was painted red.

            Then again, Grantaire had time to think, he wouldn’t have made it to heaven anyways.

            One gunshot was heard, and he died. 


	2. The Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my wifi was wonky and i decided to finish this!

Grantaire thought he had bought his friends some time. Time to move on and forget their foolish beliefs. Time to get new lives. His death bought them two weeks.

 

            It started the day of Grantaire’s death.

            Courfeyrac was sitting in the Musain with Bahorel and Feuilly showing them his “amazing taste in music”. Marius was chatting away to Joly and Bossuet about this girl, Cosette, he had met in the market the other day. He hadn’t shut up about her for a week. A song was playing out of Courf’s phone, droning on about closing your eyes from change.

            As soon as the song reached it’s second “how am I going to be an optimist about this” Enjolras burst through the door and slapped the phone from Courfeyrac’s hands.

            “Hey!” Courf shouted, but the word died on his lips. Enjolras stood, head down staring at the smashed phone, his blond hair wild around his head, giving him a halo. Jehan was two steps behind him, stock-still. He had his eyes pressed shut and his face was splotchy. Combeferre came up to put his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, barely flinching when Enjolras stormed off to the other end of the room. His eyes were wet behind his glasses.

            The group was silent as they watched. Bahorel was the first to speak.

            “Grantaire?”

            “Dead.” It was Combeferre who opened his mouth, but Enjolras who answered.

            There was a small whimper that made it’s way around the room, but no one dared to talk. Feuilly grabbed Bahorel’s arm, who sat in shock. Courfeyrac opened his arms to Jehan, who sprang into them and crushed his last flower into Courf’s chest. They all looked to their leader and saw his red-rimmed eyes, and the way he stared at his hands as if he couldn’t see a thing. None of the Amis knew what to say.

            There was nothing to say. The group knew this little bit of silence in their nonstop lives was the best way they could repay Grantaire at the moment for all that he had given them.

            Bahorel raised his shot glass (he wasn’t waiting for Grantaire or anything) and Feuilly followed suit with the one sitting next to it. The Amis all joined in with whatever they had: water bottles, empty juice boxes, or just imaginary wine glasses. Enjolras was last. He stood up with one of the wine bottles Grantaire always had hidden in the back room of the Musain in his hand (hell they were probably stolen from the Musain).

            “To Grantaire. He might not have believed in The Cause, but he was always one of us, and died the same way.”

            A chorus of “To Grantaire”’s rang out in the café, shortly followed by rounds of gunfire.

            Eponine ran in, shirt covered in blood trailed by Gavroche.

            “They found us! I don’t- I can’t-“ she stuttered before falling to her knees. Marius was there in a flash to catch her, just as her breath left her body. With everyone’s attention on Eponine Gavoroche snuck back out the door.

            They heard his screams, his chants at the gunmen out side. They heard his anger at them, and as Courfeyrac rushed to the door to drag him back, they heard his death.

            The Amis became frantic, trying to figure out what to do. While the others rushed around trying to find an escape, Combeferre approached Enjolras.

            “It’s time,” he whispered, setting his hand on his friends shoulder. Enjolras reached up robotically to lay his hand over the other.

            “Yes, I know.” He stood up and turned towards his friends, raising his voice to be heard over the chaos. “The time has come, friends, to lay down our weapons. The time has come to be peaceful once more.”

            “What are you saying? You want us to surrender?” Bahorel shouted.

            “I’m saying that if you cooperate then you won’t die!”

            Stunned shouts arose, but were quieted by Jehan.

            “He’s right.”

            “But-“ Feuilly started, only to be interrupted.

            “Do you want Grantaire to have died in vain?”

            The question was met by silence. One by one they trickled out the door, nodding towards their leader and lifting up their hands in surrender. Combeferre was the last one to leave Enjolras’ side.

            The blond stood up and let his hands trace the tables, walls and chairs on the way out.

            “Thank you,” he whispered.

 

            The next week was their execution.

            Marius escaped, his father paying a hefty bail, but was forced to watch from the stands.

            What was left of the group stood in the middle of the area, facing the firing squad with their hands cuffed behind their backs. They stood tall, hiding their soundless tears with raised chins. Enjolras stood in the middle of his friends; still holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, some compassion would be shown in the last few minutes of his life.

            Not for him, but for his friends.

            Yet when he looked into the faces of the firing squad he saw no mercy.

            Enjolras closed his eyes, imagining he was at peace, and when he cracked them open he was met with Grantaire’s smile.

            The vision reached out, gently caressing Enjolras’ cheek. It wiped away a tear that crept out of his eye and began to speak, but no sound came out.

            “Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered. Combeferre turned towards his friend in confusion, saw his friend’s blissful face, and smiled.

            “Grant-“

            Shots fired and the only sound left was the thud of dead bodies hitting the dirt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the ending was kinda rushed? I didn't want to leave this unfinished anymore and I forgot where it was even going halfway through 
> 
> say hey at ace-ohearts.tumblr.com   
> cause im lonely and only fanfiction gives me life apparently


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